


Eenie, meenie, miney, moe.

by hellhoundsprey



Series: crime!aus [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Cannibalism, M/M, Necrophilia, Psychopathology & Sociopathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: We’re both serial killers and we have the same target and we’re arguing over which one gets to kill the person. (original prompt)





	

Things are blurred; it’s a bad day, a bad one, and your nails dig-pick.

It’s too warm with another person next to you. You’re itching weird. He looks at you like food while he chews on a burger.

Your stomach growls in antipathy ’cause _you_ keep it empty, ’cause you like the _anticipation_.

“I dunno,” he sighs, and you _frown_ harder, scratch your arms a little harder. “I dunno what’s your problem. I saw him first, so.”

He’s a goddamn bastard.

“Youdint.”

“Excuse me?”

“You _didn’t_ ,” you spit. “ _I_. He’s _mine_.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Jesus Christ.”

When he’s done eating he licks his fingers clean, and you watch, unblinking.

~

If you watched movies, you’d think: _hey, this is just like in the movies_.

Finding without looking in a hardware store, while getting caught staring at rakes.

Your eyes meet. His hands looks as soft as yours.

~

You wait in a corner, wait for him to finish. Hope there will be some warmth left when it’s your turn.

Your eyes are glued to the fading panic-pink on apple of cheeks. Jared’s thrusts rustle the body. Almost looks like it’s still twitching. His glasses are fogged up he’s so close to the guy, breathes throaty _uhn uhn uhns_ against the paling skin. A ritual in itself, you can tell.

Jared likes to “just snap their necks, really”. Quick and fast—he’s got big hands, strong arms.

You haven’t eaten in a week and the room is a dark, spinning mess. You focus on the almost-transparent of eyelids and crave what’s underneath. But Jared, Jared said he doesn’t want them to look at him, so he closes them.

He comes with an animal sound. Your nail breaks through that particularly thinned-out piece in your sleeve.

A groan, and he lowers himself, cradles the face like a lover (if you’d watch TV you’d know).

“Done?”

“Jus’ another minute.”

It feels wrong to be watched while you eat. Like he’s right on your back.

But God, God.

You need this.

This one tears pretty. Soft skin, probably not as old. A little cold, unfortunately, but better than nothing, and he’s pretty, he’s healthy, you adore him under your mouth, under your fingers.

Big sad brown baby eyes, on you, on everything and nothing, slowly greying over with decay.

His insides bloom blood-warmed, and you sigh with fluttering everything. Relief.

~

On Jared’s bed, Jared plays you music, shows you pictures. Asks you if you ever take any, if he can see them, and you say no and no.

“So, you like. Eat their dicks or something?”

You explain that you only like the middle, the important center—heart and stomach and the fresh blood, nutrients.

He laughs, head tipping backwards. His hand slides up your thigh, his hair falls out of his eyes.

“You’re such a weirdo.” And he adds, “I like you.”

You don’t know what to reply but, “Thanks.”

Jared’s room is painted black, curtains pulled closed. He smells like sun and fresh basil. He said he’ll make pasta later, if you want some.

(Pictures strewn across the bed, carelessly, showing gaped bodies and forever-stiff genitals, and you see Jared’s hard in his jeans but he told you _don’t you worry I only like ’em soft_. Jared also said he’s too afraid you’ll bite it off anyway, haha.)

“He’ll taste like me though,” he reminds.


End file.
